Not So Sweet Sixteen
by HalfASlug
Summary: It's Hermione's sixteenth birthday but Harry and Ron have forgotten. As they try and make up for it before the end of the day, Ron learns about a certain Muggle law and attempts to put his new found knowledge into practice.


_A/N: I know I have other fics I should be working on but then I remembered Hermione's birthday and this popped into my head and I spent the rest of the day trying to get it finished because it is still the 19__th__ of September somewhere on this planet. _

_Disclaimer: JK Rowling created Harry Potter but probably not for this purpose_

* * *

Although he had been back at school for a couple of weeks now, Ron Weasley was still unused to getting up early and having a ten minute walk between him and the nearest bacon sarnie. This particular morning found him slumped at the Gryffindor table, bleary eyed and anything but bushy tailed, as Harry poured them both pumpkin juice next to him. Though he had yawned a couple of times, Harry was indecently awake for this time of day.

"What?" he asked when Ron told him this. "We don't have Potions or Defence Against the Dark Arts today. That is something to be grateful for."

Ron looked up at the staff table and stifled a wave of nausea when his eye immediately found a blob of pink next to a sour-faced Snape. It looked as though Umbridge was doing a lot of talking, while Snape was doing a lot of glaring. If you asked him, Ron thought it probably wasn't the Dark arts that Umbridge would have to defend herself against.

"Morning," chirped Hermione as she came and sat across from them. "Thanks for waiting for me."

"S-s-s-sorry," yawned Ron. "Thought you'd be down here already."

She stared at the two of them for a moment before reaching for the pot of coffee across from her. "I'm sure you did."

Ron grinned as he picked up his sandwich. It wasn't often that they forgot to wait for Hermione – neither of them was at their best at that hour – but this was the first time she had accepted the piss poor excuse they gave.

Barely half way into his breakfast the Great Hall was flooded with owls and Ron, along with the other older students, made to protect their food from feathers, droppings and peckish birds. As a small Tawny owl landed next to the group of first years next to them, nicking a piece of toast out of a boy's hands, another larger owl landed by Hermione and gave her a small parcel.

"Thank you," she said politely, giving the owl a stroke. The bird twitched as though it didn't like such unprofessional behaviour and was back in the air before Hermione could apologise.

Uncharacteristically ignoring the rest of her breakfast, Hermione ripped open the brown paper to reveal a small jewellery box and a card. Ron met Harry's eyes and knew by his look of dread he was thinking the same thing.

By the time Ron looked back Hermione had opened the card and was reading what looked like a lengthy message inside. On the front was a large number sixteen and lots of brightly coloured stars.

"Er -" Harry began bravely, "happy birthd-"

"You both forgot again, didn't you?"

She hadn't even looked up from the card.

"I thought your birthday was the 29th?" Ron said with his mouth full. That made her look up.

"You're right," she replied scathingly. "How silly of my parents and I to get my birthday wrong. Again." She slammed the card down and scowled at them. "Four years in a row you have used that excuse. What do you want me to do? Give you both a week's warning?"

"That'd be good actually," Ron started.

"I shouldn't have to remind you!" Hermione snarled. "Every year you have woken up on the first of March – not the eleventh, the _first _– to a card and present. And, Harry, every thirty-first of July to the best of my ability, you have also received a card and present."

"Thanks," Harry smiled but it slid off his face as Hermione slammed her hand onto the table again. The first year who had lost his toast to an owl dropped his freshly buttered slice onto the floor in shock.

"Last year you tried to pass off rescuing Crookshanks from the owlery as a present."

"The barn owls were bulling him!"

"The year before that you told me Trelawney said birthday presents would bring bad luck."

"To be fair, she did."

"And then in our second year, you pointed at Professor Lockhart and said "enjoy that.""

"Are you saying you didn't enjoy a glimpse of Lockhart?" Ron smirked.

"That is not the point!" shouted Hermione. "One birthday! I just want you both to remember one birthday!"

Ron hanged his head in shame. She may be all screechy and had that look in her eyes that scared the socks off him, but she did deserve one birthday where her best friends got the date right and made her feel appreciated.

"We'll make it up to you," Harry mumbled. "Today. We'll both get you a present – or – or something today."

"Yeah," nodded Ron, hoping inspiration was going to come to him and be relatively cheap.

Hermione eyed them for a moment. "Today?" she asked tentatively. "And not something like your_ presence_ or a library book?"

Ron inwardly cursed. Library book had been his first choice.

"Of course," Harry said, nodding frantically. "And we'll promise to remember next year as well."

Hermione, like Ron, looked as though she thought the last part might be pushing it a bit. However, she didn't look like she was going to skin them which was a vast improvement.

"Fine," she sighed. "But I'm not helping you with your homework for a week."

Ron and Harry visibly deflated as the twins bounded over to them.

"Happy birthday, Hermione Granger!" they said in unison. Fred thrust a card in her direction as George did his best impression of the glamorous assistant.

"Thanks," smiled Hermione, making no effort to take the card, "but if you think for one second that I'm stupid enough to open that, then you clearly don't know me very well."

Fred and George gasped dramatically and clutched their hearts. "How dare you?" whimpered George. "This is a token of our gratitude that sixteen years ago today this world was given such loving, caring-"

"Don't forget forgiving," Fred chimed in.

"-_forgiving_ and beautiful witch," George finished.

Hermione arched an eyebrow. "Really?"

"What have we ever done to stop you trusting us?" asked Fred sincerely.

The twins were able to withstand Hermione's sardonic look for a full four seconds before they caved. "Fine," Fred sighed, putting the card gingerly into his bag, "but at least we remembered unlike these sad sacks."

Ron squirmed guiltily. Well, until George twatted him around the head with that morning's _Daily Prophet. _

"Oi!"

"Shut up. You deserve that and you know it," chastised George. "You always forget."

"Harry does too!" he protested, earning him a kick from under the table.

"Yeah, but we can't really hit Harry," shrugged Fred. "You, on other hand, are a major disappointment! A witch in your year turns legal and you didn't notice!"

"What?" Ron glanced at Harry who was now busying himself with his breakfast.

"As a Weasley and a supposedly red-blooded male," George explained, "you should have a sixth sense about this kind of thing."

While Ron tried in vain to work out what the hell his brothers were talking about, they turned their attentions to Hermione.

"Which reminds me, Miss Granger," Fred began solemnly, "if you wish to exercise your new legal rights, I will happily offer my services."

Hermione blushed a little but otherwise looked unfazed by the twins' teasing. "The legality of the action doesn't guarantee its occurrence," she replied with dignity.

"Ah well," George said bracingly, clapping his twin on the back, "you tried."

"That I did," conceded Fred. "Come, brother. Let us find lesser women than the birthday girl who will find our cheap tricks and particular brand of charm enticing and not immature."

Before they could move up the table, Seamus, Dean and Neville plodded up to the group. None of them looked awake enough to be upright.

"Happy birthday, Hermione," Neville smiled as he stumbled onto the bench.

Fred and George both cheered, startling the newcomers. "Our faith in the Gryffindor youth is restored!"

"Don't let us down, Longbottom!"

Neville nodded vaguely as the twins saluted him and walked away.

"Right," Hermione said, slinging her bag over her shoulder, "if even your brothers and Neville can remember then you have no excuse. I'll see you in Charms." She got up and gave them both one last cold look "That's if you remember to show up."

Ron and Harry watched her leave.

"We're fucked, aren't we?"

"Yep."

Breakfast didn't look as appetising as it had before Hermione had shown up. It couldn't be too hard to make it up to her though. It wasn't as if sixteen was a big birthday or anything.

"What was all that stuff Fred and George were saying anyway?" Ron asked dejectedly. "About Hermione being legal?"

Harry's eyes snapped up and his cheeks looked a shade redder than normal. "Well… sixteen? It's a big birthday to Muggles."

_Bollocks._

"So what does legal mean?"

After he had placed his cutlery down and had a swig of pumpkin juice Harry appeared to accept that he was out of stalling techniques and would have to answer Ron's question.

"Well… in this country sixteen is the Muggle age of consent," he explained in one breath.

Ron blinked. "Consent to what?"

Out of the corner of his eye Ron saw Seamus and Dean grinning at him and couldn't help but feel decidedly stupid.

Harry coughed and couldn't meet his eyes as he spoke. "Well… "

* * *

By dinner time, Hermione had barely spoken to either of them. While that meant their game of hangman in Charms went interrupted, it also meant that their Transfiguration notes had to be taken down by them and by the end of the day both of them had shooting pains in their right hands. When Hermione had sweetly asked them if they were all right, they had both tried their best to smile back. It was their own faults after all.

By lunchtime they had vowed to get their presents by the end of the hour and had separated. Something told them Hermione wasn't going to forgive them over a joint present. As he paced through the halls of Hogwarts, Ron promised himself he would do anything not to fuck up like this again, if only to avoid all this last minute rushing around.

As they all sat down in the Great Hall that evening, Ron felt a lot lighter. Inspiration had struck and, if everything went to plan, he would be back in Hermione's good books in time for his next Potions essay. He hadn't had time to worry about her not liking her present at the time – just having _something _for her had been the priority. Now that he had time to think about it though… Was it good enough?

He chanced a glance at Hermione who was enthusing about the bread rolls of all things. Apparently they were her favourite kind and Hogwarts hardly ever had them. Ron hadn't even noticed there were different types of bread roll at Hogwarts. Still, it made Hermione's eyes light up and her cheeks were faintly pink. Something about seeing her smile always made him smile, especially when he was the cause. He wondered if his present would make her all happy and bouncy and-

"Is there something on my face?" Hermione asked from what felt like very far away.

Ron startled. "Er – n-nope." He ducked his head and cursed his stupid voice for choosing _now _to go all squeaky.

Thankfully before anyone – including himself – could question why he had been staring at Hermione, the plates in front of them were filled with strange food that Ron didn't recognise.

"Ooh!" Hermione squealed, her face splitting into a grin that made Ron feel weird inside. "It's all French cuisine!"

A look over at the Hufflepuff table showed that they had shepherd's pie and roast chicken instead. "Why have they got normal food?" Ron complained loudly.

"Just eat and stop complaining, Ron," Harry said quietly, spooning something onto his plate.

"You don't even know what that is!" exclaimed Ron, gesturing to the food Harry was innocently tucking into.

"Yes, I do," he replied with an uneasy chuckle. "It's erm… chicken."

"Really," challenged Ron, eyebrows high on his forehead. "What kind of _chicken_?"

Harry gulped. "Apple… chicken."

"_Apple chicken?_"

"It could be _poulet à la bretonne,_" Hermione cut in, surveying Harry's plate. "It's chicken cooked in cider."

"See!" smirked Harry, nudging the dish towards Ron. "Should be right up your street, West Country Boy."

Grumbling something about unfair stereotypes, Ron looked around the table for something that didn't look so… _French_… but to no avail. In the end he settled for eating as much bread as possible. Hermione, meanwhile, was in her element, gushing about all the food in front of them and holidays with her parents. Seeing her in such a good mood – a mood that apparently had wiped all memory of forgotten birthdays temporarily from her mind – was almost worth an inadequate dinner in Ron's mind.

"You could just try something, Ron," sighed Hermione as she finished hers. "Just because you can't pronounce the name, doesn't mean it isn't nice."

"Would it kill them to just have one thing that wasn't so bloody pretentious," he frowned. "What's wrong with a bit of roast beef?"

Hermione chuckled. "Funny you should say that. The French actually refer to the British as _rosbeef _because-"

She was interrupted by the desserts replacing the main courses. Ron perked up, searching the table for the biggest slice of chocolate cake he could grab but instead he was faced with-

"Apple pie!" Hermione smiled, helping herself to a slice before covering it in custard.

Ron looked from Hermione, already tucking into her pie, to Harry who was carefully avoiding his eye. "Isn't apple pie your favourite?"

Hermione nodded, not wanting to talk with her mouth open.

"And you love all that French shit as well, right?"

This time she frowned but Ron took that as confirmation. "Convenient," he murmured, glaring at Harry.

"Isn't it?" Harry smiled enigmatically.

Ron continued to glare at his best friend until Hermione squeaked in surprise. A scroll of parchment had just materialised on top of her bowl. Blinking, she picked it up and began to read.

"Is… is that supposed to be my name?" she asked.

Harry leaned across to look over her shoulder. "Hermyooony? I think so." He went back to his plate, ignoring Ron's attempts to get his attention.

Meanwhile, Hermione's eyes darted over the parchment, her brow gradually becoming more furrowed. Once she reached the end she threw it onto the table and glared at Harry. "You told the house-elves to make my favourite food?"

"No," Harry said simply, carefully scooping up more pie, "I was visiting Dobby and casually mentioned it was your birthday and he _insisted _I told him your favourite foods."

Something cold dripped down Ron's spine. It was so easy, so brilliant… and Harry had been the one to do it.

"You can't exploit them like that!" Hermione told him, scandalised. "They went to all this trouble-"

"Actually the other elves didn't help him once they found out it was _your_ birthday-"

"Dobby did this all by _himself_?" gasped Hermione. She looked about three seconds away from spitting fire.

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the bravest person Ron knew who had stared a fully grown Voldemort in the face and even duelled him, cowered under the look he was given. "I-I helped him," he stuttered. "I spent all of lunch in the kitchens. I did the custard."

Hermione sniffed and glanced at the custard as though it could back up Harry's story.

"I promise. I wasn't – I wasn't exploiting them," Harry said seriously. "I would never do that. Never."

Finally Hermione smiled and gave Harry a hug. Ron averted his eyes. Something about the two of them hugging always made him want to smash something.

"Thanks, Harry," Hermione beamed as she pulled away at long last.

"Happy birthday, Hermione."

They all went back to their desserts, although Ron wasn't so much as eating as moving his food around the plate now. The jammy git and gone and knocked his present out of the air before she had even seen it. It wasn't fair. She'd take one look at his now and think he didn't care about her. After all the effort he had gone to to get it all perfect…

"What's wrong, Ron?"

He looked up to see Hermione eyeing him with concern. It was her birthday, he really shouldn't spoil it for her, but he just couldn't bring himself to be happy at the minute.

"Nothing," he shrugged. "I'm… I've got some stuff to sort out. I'll see you in the common room later, yeah?"

His bowl still half full, Ron left his best friends, hoping against hope that tonight went well for him. With each step he grew more determined that by the time Hermione went to bed, Ron would have made her smile.

* * *

It hadn't been a bad birthday, Hermione thought as she curled up in the corner of the common room with _Hogwarts: A History. _Besides Ron and Harry forgetting, which she half expected by this point in her life anyway, it had been a good day. Professor Flitwick had given her a box a chocolate mice. Ginny had made her a small pamphlet entitled _So You're Nearly A Boring Adult _which they had spent all of lunch laughing at. Harry's stunt at dinner was a lovely gesture. Obviously afterwards she had gone down to the kitchens to thank them and make sure they weren't put under any extra pressure until she had been kicked out. But still, it was a nice gesture.

The evening had been spent with Harry and the Weasleys, talking and playing Exploding Snap. Each game had been fixed so she would win of course, with Ginny and the twins taking particular care to push Harry into the deck if anyone else looked like they might beat her. After the fifth explosion, Harry had decided to call it a night and went to bed complaining of a head ache.

Soon the others had followed him and she had pulled out her battered copy of her favourite book in the hopes she could end the day curled up in the corner of the near-empty common, reading. It was the perfect ending, really.

Well, _almost _perfect. If she were in a reaching for the stars kind of mood, her idea of perfect would involve Ron Weasley, a stumbled over question, a back handed compliment and a snog that had her gasping for breath.

Still, she wasn't greedy. A good book would suit her perfectly.

It wasn't Ron Weasley's tongue though…

"Hermione?"

Hermione jumped, nearly dropping her book, as she found Ron Weasley's tongue and the rest of him in fact had somehow managed to sneak up on her. "Yes?"

"You okay?" he asked. Pig was flying around his head and he was flushed, as though he had been running. "You look a bit dazed."

"I'm fine," she insisted with a cough.

He sat down in the armchair opposite her, looking at the other empty chairs. "What're you doing on your own?"

_Don't say thinking about your tongue. While it seems like a good idea now, it will only lead to awkward questions later._

"Hermione?"

"Oh – er – everyone went to bed," she shrugged, holding up her book. "Thought I'd read for a bit. Where have you been? I haven't seen you since dinner."

She watched as Ron avoided her gaze and pulled the sleeve of his robes down. "Sorting something out."

Pig whizzed around her head as she waited for him to elaborate but he continued to pout instead. Even in a bad mood he was still gorgeous with his fringe covering his eyes and his jaw all tense. Any other day she would have done her best to look as though she was reading, but today was her birthday. If she wanted to unashamedly look at Ron while he was being all moody and gorgeous, she was going to look at him being all moody and gorgeous.

"What's that?" she inquired, nodding towards the envelope in his hand.

Ron hid the envelope in his pocket and ran his hand through his hair. "Doesn't matter." He sighed heavily and sat up straighter. "Will you promise not to laugh if I give you my present?" he blurted out.

"Of course I will," she replied, putting her book down. "I've waited long enough for it."

"Yeah," he mumbled. "Sorry about that. Promise I'll remember next year." He grinned in that way that made her forget how to speak sometimes and she tried not to smile too widely back at him.

"I've heard that one before."

"Seriously though, it's a big one next year. Can't forget that."

This time she did smile at him. Every year he managed to win her back by the end of the day, usually by accident. While it would be nice if he remembered things like her birthday Hermione understood that Ron still cared for her, still wanted her around. He showed her pretty much every day through his words and actions. A present and a card once a year didn't really mean anything next to all that.

Besides, it was her own fault, really, for befriending boys.

"Well, Harry explained that sixteen is a big deal to Muggles," Ron started nervously. "But so is eighteen. And twenty-one is important but for no real reason. I don't get it, but anyway." He shook his head as though to stop himself rambling. "Harry said that sixteen was important because it means in the Muggle world you can do some new stuff that you can't when you're fifteen."

He looked at her uncertainly as though for confirmation so she nodded. There many things you could do once you turned sixteen in the Muggle world, but with Ron this close to her, Hermione was only thinking of one of them.

And it was nothing to do with buying scratch cards.

"Right, so new experiences are cool," he continued, as Hermione dragged her thoughts out of the gutter. "So I thought for your birthday you could do something that you've never done before."

"O-okay," Hermione said slowly, wondering where on Earth he was going with this. Explaining it seemed to give him a bit more confidence in his present though. She didn't know whether to worry or be thrilled by this.

"So I didn't really know what to do but I thought Lupin could help me-"

"Lupin?" Hermione interjected. "You – you asked Lupin about this?"

"Well… yeah," shrugged Ron. "He's always been a bit more in touch with this sort of thing than like- I dunno – my dad. Or McGonagall."

_At least he hadn't asked McGonagall about this. Whatever it was. Shouldn't get her hopes up._

"So I asked Hagrid and he explained everything-"

"_Hagrid?_" Hermione squeaked, almost wishing he had asked McGonagall.

"Yeah," nodded Ron enthusiastically. "He told me all about the balls and stuff."

"The – sorry?"

The room was very warm all of a sudden. New experiences? Turning sixteen? _Balls? _There was no way Ron was talking about what Hermione's hormone riddled mind thought he was. There was no need for her to be gripping the arm of the chair so tightly either.

Ron shot her a mock-stern look. "Stop interrupting or I'll never get to the good bit. So I got Hagrid to send my letter asking for Lupin's help via the Floo and then-"

"You sent Pig through the Floo?" Hermione watched the tiny bird attacking an empty box of Every Flavoured Beans before he stopped, coughed up some green ash and carried on. "Ron, you can't send owls through the Floo Network!"

"Nah, Pig loves it," he dismissed with a wave of his hand. Pig jumped off the table and managed to take flight just before hitting the floor. "If I had made him fly to London and back he would never have made it in time." He frowned. "Lupin said in his letter that he didn't have any Floo Powder and made him fly all the way back though."

"Wait a minute, Ron," Hermione said, trying to bring sanity back to the conversation, or at least work out what the conversation was really about. "Why did you need Lupin and Hagrid's help in the first place?"

He had the audacity to laugh at her. "I've never done it before either, have I?"

This conversation was _not _about what she was thinking it was about.

Ron took her stunned silence as encouragement. "I had to get stuff from a Muggle shop and I'm not old enough and I ain't got a clue what to ask for anyway."

Not old enough… Muggle shop…

If Ron had bought her condoms she was going to react in a very extreme way. She just hadn't decided what way. Most likely it would be violent.

"Is it hot in here?" she asked looking anywhere but Ron, exceedingly relieved she hadn't asked if he was hot.

"Er – not really…"

"It is, isn't it?" She stood, electing to ignore his irrelevant comment. "I'll open the window."

While Ron was busy looking bewildered, Hermione darted to the window nearest to them and opened it. A gust of freezing wind blew in. Now if she could just keep Ron far away from her and work out what to do with her hands, she would be fine.

"Hermione?" So much for him being far away. Ron had moved to stand by the window with her. "It's fucking freezing."

"Yes, I know," she replied testily. "I was just checking. So, this present – what did you ask Hagrid about exactly?"

Ron shrugged. Why did he keep shrugging? Were his shoulders trying to physically drag him away from the girl who fancied the pants off of him and was clearly getting the wrong end of the stick? Why couldn't he listen to his shoulders? They were obviously more capable of sense than she was.

"Y'know – how it works. What happens after everything's come out. How many people are involved. The usual stuff." He shrugged again but Hermione was too hung up on his words to pay attention. "He didn't know a lot – says he'd never really done it before – but he did wish you good luck."

With that, Hermione's knees gave out and she leant against the window for support.

Apparently unaware that Hermione was on the verge of a heart attack, fainting or some other kind of medical emergency that could be considered a blessing in disguise at the minute, Ron took a step forward. Hermione immediately stumbled a few steps to her left, away from him.

"What are you doing?" she all but panted.

Ron looked at her as though she was mad, as though _she _was the one who had gone to Hagrid for sex advice. "Giving it to you?"

Something inside Hermione's brain snapped, clicked into place and started working for the first time since Ron had walked in. "What kind of a girl do you think I am?" she yelled at him, thankful they were the only two left in the common room now.

"Eh?"

"It's my birthday so you think you'll get lucky?" she spat at him, hands on her hips. Anger was finally coming to her aid and it felt wonderful and familiar.

Ron laughed. "If anything, Hermione, you're the one who'll be getting lucky."

If she hadn't been so utterly floored by his words and a little scared to touch him at the minute, Hermione would have slapped him. Yes, she had hoped that Ron would one day pick up on her hints and make a move. Yes, she had accepted that she had not fallen for a sensitive poet who would sweep her off her feet with his impeccable dress sense and dazzling table manners. She had, however, hoped for something a little more romantic than this.

"I can't believe you," she hissed before storming towards the portrait hole.

"Hermione?" Ron called from behind her. "Hermione, wait!"

Just in front of the exit of Gryffindor Tower, Hermione spun around and gave him a look that a basilisk would have been proud of.

Instead of dropping dead, Ron held his arms out at his sides helplessly. "How was I supposed to know you didn't like that kind of thing?"

"I - I – it's not that I don't like that sort of thing," she spluttered, "because I do or – or probably will, eventually, in the right circumstances and but I'm – it's…"

Great. He had succeeded in making her flustered. Flustered didn't do well for storming off in righteous fury. Flustered made her cheeks glow and made her hyper-aware of the way Ron wetted his lip when he was nervous.

"I mean, this is hardly appropriate, is it?" she finished lamely, crossing her arms.

"I didn't know, okay? It's not like we've ever spoke about stuff like that before," Ron said.

"That – that would have probably been better than just springing it on me out of nowhere, Ron," she sighed. "In fact, any kind of build-up or hints would have been preferable to this."

His shoulders slumped and it was like all the joy had left his world. Did he really think this approach was going to work?

"I just thought," he mumbled, hands in pockets to complete the woe-is-me look, "because it was your sixteenth and your muggleborn that you would want it." Hermione went to interrupt him with a stern lecture about why he should have taken Muggle Studies, but he spoke over her in the same dejected tone. "And I know you're all morals and stuff but it's not like it was anything too hardcore. You can't do that until you're eighteen according to Lupin."

To hell with morals and stuff – what had Ron been talking about all afternoon?

"Hermione?"

Oh right. He was still expecting her to partake in this conversation.

"I suppose it's the thought that counts," she said numbly. Would it be inappropriate to ask him what he meant by 'hardcore' or-?

"Right?" he nodded. "Look, you might as well have this anyway." He pulled out the envelope again and handed it to her. "It's in your card but you can ignore it if that's what you want."

Hermione stared at the envelope. What was in there? A condom? Porn magazine? Key to his sex dungeon?

When she did nothing other than sway slightly, Ron shook the envelope. Hermione took it from him, noting that it was far too light to contain a key. She decided she would figure out why she was disappointed to not get a key to Ron Weasley's Sex Dungeon later.

Surely Ron wasn't allowed to have a sex dungeon in school? He was a prefect after all. Not to mention underage. And what exactly was the function of a sex dungeon anyway?

"Are you going to open it?"

"Right. Yes."

With shaking hands, Hermione peeled the envelope open and slid the card out. It looked as though Ron had made it himself but she would give the front a proper look in a minute. Slowly she opened the card and saw-

"It's a lottery ticket."

Hermione looked at the innocent piece of paper for what felt like an eternity. For all she knew he had transfigured it and any moment now it would turn back into a key for the fabled and highly illegal Ron Weasley Sex Dungeon that she was not interested in one bit.

"Yeah." Ron was staring at her like this should have been obvious to her.

"You got me a lottery ticket," she clarified.

He sighed heavily. "You can throw it away if you really don't like gambling though."

"Gambling?"

"Yes, gambling," he frowned. "Where have you been the past few minutes?"

"You thought I didn't approve of gambling?"

Ron was laughing though Hermione could see absolutely nothing funny about this situation. "What did you think I was talking about?"

In front of her, Hermione could see two paths laid out. She could lie and hope he never found out the truth, thus keeping her dignity intact. Or she could tell him the truth, that she had spent the past ten minutes convinced he was offering her sex and that, while she would have definitely refused him, she was not entirely repulsed by the idea. Or at all repulsed by the idea. That she had had several dreams based around that idea and she sometimes thought about them in History of Magic when he was staring into space and completely unaware that she was staring at him.

She had always been taught that the truth was better than a lie but maybe only a bit of the truth would do here. She should probably leave out the whole History of Magic bit.

"Sixteen is… well," she swallowed, "it's the Muggle age of consent."

"Yeah, Harry told me," Ron explained, unfazed. "You can legally consent to buy lottery tickets."

It was then that Hermione Granger decided that she would do what even Lord Voldemort himself had failed to do and kill Harry Potter.

"Weird way of putting it if you ask me," Ron continued, not noticing her reaction, "but still relatively sane compared to other Muggle stuff." When she didn't reply – because, really, what reply was there? – Ron's eyes widened. "Wait – was he having me on?"

"No!" she exclaimed. "No, it's true that you can't buy lottery tickets until you're sixteen. I just – thought it was something else."

Ron eyed her sceptically. "What? What else can't Muggles do until they're sixteen?"

_Good question, _Hermione thought bitterly. _What else, other than the one thing you apparently can't stop thinking about, can Muggles do once they turn sixteen?_

"Er – cigarettes," she supplied with what she hoped was an air of nonchalance. "You can't purchase cigarettes until you're sixteen."

There was silence for a heartbeat. Then Ron broke it by snorting with laughter. "You thought I'd bought you fags? I'm not an idiot," he scoffed, clutching his stomach.

"No, of course you're not," Hermione said, breathing a sigh of relief. "Thank you for the present, Ron," she said kindly.

"So you like it?" he asked tentatively.

She smiled. "Yes. I'll let you know if I win."

"Wicked," he grinned. "'Cos Seamus said something about a giant finger and I had no idea what he was talking about," he chuckled, returning to his seat. Thankfully he didn't notice her roll her eyes. Of course Seamus was involved in this. Once he had sat down, Ron looked up and her, his forehead crinkled slightly. "It's okay that I didn't give you a finger, right?"

And, as Hermione felt herself blush and her mind slide back into gutter, she was for once thankful that Ron was so utterly clueless about Muggles, girls and the strange effect he had on her by simply being nearby.

* * *

_A/N 2: Thanks for reading! _

_If you don't get the last joke about the finger then if you google 'UK National Lottery it could be you' then you'll probably work it out._

_Before anyone points out that you have to be 18 to buy fags in Britain I would like to kindly remind you that you didn't in fair 1995 where we lay our scene. Also BobMarleyman pointed out that Hagrid was off with giants at the beginning of OotP but we can all overlook that, right? We're all friends here. Right? Please._


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